


Ten Hours

by Scheherezade06



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Captain Swan - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 15:03:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2029512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scheherezade06/pseuds/Scheherezade06
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Hook arrivs in Storybrooke (in Season 2), he tracks down Emma Swan, who owes him ten hours after leaving him atop a beanstalk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Emma Swan."

Hook watched with unmasked delight as her spine stiffened at the sound of his voice. She spun around shakily, slowly. She understood that he could have attacked instead of announcing himself. She hadn’t heard him sneak up behind her, hadn’t noticed him following her around town.

He was leaning nonchalantly against the wall of the alley, hook clasped in hand, the picture of a wolf pretending to be a lamb.

"Captain Hook," she said as if the words were difficult to form. He remembered that to her, it was the name of a villain in a story. "How did you get to Storybrooke?"

"By ship," he answered honestly, kicking off the wall to saunter toward her. "You and I have unfinished business, love."

"Is Cora with you? How’d you make a portal?" she asked gruffly, all sheriff.

"I will answer all of your questions, darling," he said, "after we’ve settled our accounts."

"Answer now," she said, putting her hand on her weapon. "And what accounts?"

"You owe me ten hours, Miss Swan."

Her mouth fell open.

"That’s not… I didn’t—"

"After you tender what is owed, I will give you all the information you desire," he said. "I’m certain you will find me… eager to please."

He took a few more slow steps forward, stopping just shy of invading her personal space. He held out his hand, but she just frowned at him.

"We both know you’re going to  _come_  with me, darling,” he said, infusing the words with confident innuendo. She swallowed and tore her eyes away from his, looking at his outstretched hand for a moment.

"The ten hours start  _now,_ " she said defiantly, meeting his gaze again, raising one eyebrow slightly in challenge.

"As you wish," he replied, grinning devilishly and waggling his fingers at her. She reluctantly put her hand in his.

He clasped her hand firmly, briefly rubbing his thumb over her wrist. He considered pulling her to him and taking her into his arms there in the alley, but he knew she would balk. Privacy would be much preferred.

He began tugging her along as he walked, trying to maintain an unhurried pace, but feeling each second slip by.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked after a minute.

He smiled at her inadvertent turn of phrase.

"I am going to  _take you_  on my ship,” he said saucily, emphasizing the innuendo.

She made no reply, and they walked the rest of the way through town in silence. He maintained his measured pace all the way to the dock, even though he wanted to throw the wench over his shoulder and sprint.

It took nearly half of one of his hard-earned hours to make it to the pier. He stopped several slips from where his ship was moored and reluctantly let go of Emma’s hand.

"Close your eyes, darling," he said.

She arched an eyebrow.

He grinned at that and drew a handkerchief from his vest. He rolled it neatly into a blindfold.

"This isn’t necessary," she sighed, but her words lacked conviction and she made no move to stop him as he stepped around her to loop the blindfold over her eyes. He tied the knot with his hand and teeth, taking a deep breath when his face was in her hair.

She smelled clean and floral, but there was a spicy undertone. Cinnamon? He approved.

She was being a little too compliant, however, so he grabbed her then and threw her over his shoulder as he’d wanted to do a quarter hour before. She gasped and started to protest, squirming and clutching at his coat. He slapped her backside almost playfully, eliciting another gasp.

"Quiet, wench," he said gleefully, pressing his cheek to her hip.

He sighted a spot in the distance and spun quickly in place several times to disorient his fair captive. Then he strode purposefully to his ship, carrying her straight to his cabin.

He strongly considered throwing her on the bed and joining her there, but he knew she would simply flee, ending their game. He had to play this just right. So, he set her gently on her feet near the door, not even groping her as he did so. He threw the lock on the door and pulled off the blindfold.

She met his gaze with a little frown before her instincts made her turn to survey her surroundings.

 _Good form_ , the thought, watching her eyes rove over the contents of his cabin. She took her time, and it irritated him slightly, since it was  _his_  time she was wasting.

"Welcome to the Jolly Roger," he said politely.

"I was expecting the brig," she said, not quite a question, looking at him expectantly.

"I have manacles, if you prefer," he said with a smile. "It would only be fair."

She looked guilty for a moment.

"But," he continued, "I thought we could do… other things to pass the time."

"I bet you did," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "Hook—"

"Killian," he corrected.

"What?" she said, confused.

"My name, love," he prompted. "I gave it to you after you tied me to a tree. Or had you forgotten?"

"Jones," she said with a little nod.

"At your service," he intoned with a bow. "As a guest on my ship, I ask that you address me by my name instead of… Well."

He gestured with his namesake and gave a small, forced smile.

"A guest?" she said incredulously.

"I invited you aboard and you graciously accepted my humble request," he said. "What would you call it, Miss Swan?"

"Emma," she corrected, then she looked startled that she’d done so. "What about the blindfolding and the spinning and the…"

 _Spanking_ , he finished for her in his head.

"Are those not customary in this realm?" he said innocently.

She rolled her eyes in response.

He gave her a wolfish smile.

"Then I will have to be  _more hospitable_ ,” he drawled. He leered at her for a moment before purposefully turning his back on her, striding to his liquor cabinet and clearing her path to the exit.

She didn’t bolt.

Good.

"Something to drink?" he asked over his shoulder as he opened the cabinet and took a quick inventory. He withdrew two tin cups and a bottle of strong, spiced rum that he saved for special occasions. He carried the armload to the table, brushing aside some papers and instruments to make a clear spot for the alcohol.

He poured a neat double in each cup and sat down lazily in one of the bolted down swivel chairs. He gestured to the chair beside him.

Emma hesitated before sitting next to him. He smiled at her and waved his hand at the two cups.

"Which?" she asked warily.

"You choose," he said. "I’ll drink the other. I should hate for you to think I have ulterior motives."

She snorted, which made him smile wider.

She chose a cup, but she did not put it to her lips. She looked pointedly at the other cup and then at him. He obligingly picked up the cup with his hook, the lip of it resting neatly against the curve. He’d had them custom made. He brought the liquor to his lips without breaking eye contact and drank half the dark amber liquid.

When he lowered the cup, Emma neatly replaced his cup with hers and gave him another expectant look.

He grinned again and drank from the second cup as well. Then he poured the remaining liquid from his current cup into the cup she held and poured himself another double.

Experiment over, Emma finally put her cup to her lips, taking a tentative sip. The flavor seemed to surprise her, because she gave the cup and then him and appraising look before downing the rest of the drink in one gulp.

She set the cup down hard and leaned back in her chair.

"So," she said, "what do you want to do for—" she pulled back the sleeve of her coat and examined her wrist for a moment. "—eight and a half hours?"

He couldn’t keep the smirk off his face as the thought about what he wanted to do, but he decided to evade her question.

"Let’s talk," he said, surprising her.

"Talk?" she parroted incredulously.

"Unless you have other activities in mind," he drawled.

She rolled her eyes again.

"What do you want to talk about?" she asked.

"Is that a timepiece on your wrist?" he said with honest interest, bypassing her question.

Emma pulled up her sleeve to show him her watch. He took her arm in his hand and brought it close to his face. Honestly, he was more interested in the milky skin of her wrist than the timepiece. All it did was remind him that his precious seconds were slipping away.

Tick, tock.

He told himself to be patient.

"Lovely," he murmured, brushing his thumb along her skin near the watch.

"Thanks," she replied, withdrawing her arm.

"What other fascinating items are you wearing under those layers?" he said darkly. "Aren’t you warm? I know I am."

He stood up and shrugged out of his coat, slipping it over in left arm with a fluid, well-practiced motion. It had taken him years to master the movement, but now it was reflex.

"May I take your coat?" he asked, reaching for her slowly, soothing the skittish prey.

She gave a tiny nod.

He stepped behind her and swept her hair gently to the side to keep from catching it with his hook. He grazed his fingers along the back of her neck with the motion and was rewarded with a smattering of goose bumps across her exposed flesh.

He slipped his fingers and the tip of his hook under the collar of her coat and slid the garment down her arms, dragging his fingers and the curve of his hook along her skin.

More goose bumps.

Her breathing had sped up, too.

Without her coat, Emma wore a thin black chemise over some small garment that lifted her breasts to show her cleavage at the neckline of the brief blouse.

He hung their coats on the pegs near the door, discretely adjusting his pants on his way back to the table.

"I will never grow accustomed to the fashions women wear in this realm," he mused. "Do you not feel… exposed?"

She snorted again.

"God forbid you meet Ruby," she said. "You’d spontaneously combust."

Teasing Emma was back. Excellent. Maybe the rum had loosened her up a little.

"Does this Ruby also dress in such a scandalous manner?" he asked with a grin.

"If a tank top is ‘scandalous’ to you, you wouldn’t last five minutes with Ruby."

"Oh, I would  _last_  longer than five minutes, love.”

"Would you?" she teased.

"Aye," he said with a wink. He picked up his cup and raised it in a toast. "To ‘tank tops.’"

He help his glass up, waiting for her to bring hers up as well.

She gave a little throaty laugh and raised hers as well.

"And leather pants," she said with a hint on a blush on her cheeks.

They clinked glasses and Emma drained her cup.

"Perhaps you should slow down, love," he said when his own cup was empty.

"I assume you want me tipsy," she said dryly, reaching for the bottle of rum.

He grabbed the bottle first, keeping it out of her reach.

"Oh, I want you, love, tipsy or not."

She blinked at that.

"But I’d prefer you remain in possession of your faculties for the duration."

"Why is that?" she asked, raising an eyebrow again.

"When I bed you—"

She scoffed.

“ _When_  I bed you,” he repeated with confidence, “I want you to be willing. I will not touch you without your consent.”

"Not gonna happen," she declared with the hint of a slur in her words.

"I’m a very patient man, Miss Swan," he murmured in response.

She looked thoughtful for a minute.

"How old are you, Hook?" she asked softly.

"Killian," he reminded her in an almost sing-song fashion.

"Killian," she echoed, saying his name for the first time. It was music to his ears.

"Yes, Emma?" he said as if they were old friends.

"How old are you?"

He took a breath and ran his fingers through his hair. He knew he would answer honestly, but he wasn’t sure how she would react.

"Nigh on three hundred years," he said warily and wearily.

"Oh," she said, blinking, "what’s that like?"

"Lonely," he answered honestly, but turning his expression into an exaggerated pout. "Won’t you help heal the ache of my heart?"

"Oh, you have one?" she teased, grinning.

"You wound me, Emma," he declared, placing his hand on his chest dramatically.

"I’m sure you’re get over it," she said with an eye roll.

"Perhaps," he teased back, "a kiss from your honeyed lips would surely ease the emptiness in my shriveled, black heart. What say you, fair Swan? Will you make your lips my soothing balm?"

"People don’t talk like that in this world," she quipped, looking amused.

"Aye? How would one lobby for a kiss in this realm, then?"

"Less poetry."

"How sad," he mused, giving her another little pout. "Then what would someone say to the object of their affection to express their desire for a kiss?"

"Kiss me," she said simply, taking the bait.

He did not hesitate. His lips were on hers a heartbeat after the words left them.

He did not grab her, did not press her. He left her ample room to retreat, and he wasn’t surprised when she took it.

"Hook!" she exclaimed. She put her hand over her mouth, eyes wide.

He touched his own lips, savoring the memory of her touch. It had been brief—oh, so brief—but she had most certainly responded before pulling away.

"Yes, love?" he said with an earnest, innocent expression.

"What was that?" she demanded.

"Have you never done that before?" he teased. "I was led to believe you had more experience, being a mother."

"Why did you kiss me?" she hissed.

"You told me to, darling," he said, maintaining his feigned innocence.

"You’re incorrigible."

"Aye, please encourage me, Emma," he drawled with a smirk.

"That’s not what that means!" she exclaimed, standing up. "I’m not going to stay here and—"

"Pay what is owed?" he finished for her. "Eight more hours, love."

She checked her watch.

"Seven and a half!"

"You chained me up with a bloody giant before you began your countdown, as I recall. Now you’re going to squabble over minutes?"

She made a frustrated noise. She hesitated before sitting back down.

"That’s my girl," he said cheerfully, patting her shoulder.

"I’m not your girl," she snapped, removing his hand, "and I thought you weren’t going to touch me without my consent?"

"You know what I meant, love," he said, purposefully reaching for her. He brushed the hair back from her shoulder.

She didn’t stop him, so he ran his fingers along the shell of her ear as if tucking back another lock of hair. She still didn’t stop him, so he pressed his luck, running his fingers down the side of her neck, raising more goose bumps. He glided his fingers across the top of her shoulder and then down her shoulder blade, as if he’d found another errant lock of hair.

She allowed the charade, or maybe she believed it, so he continued. He leaned forward, wrapping his good arm around her, barely touching, so he could pull back the hair from her other shoulder. He did it slowly, tucking back each real and fictitious wisp of her hair with gentle fingers.

"You have beautiful hair," he murmured, his lips just an inch from her ear. This close, he could see the color that was rising in her cheeks and the way her breath had sped up. He held there for a moment before whispering:

"Why don’t you just admit it?"

He popped the T of the last word, brushing her cheek with his lips as he spoke.

She pulled back, as he’d expected, but his arm was still around her. She pressed against it as she withdrew far enough to meet his gaze.

"Admit what?" she asked a little too breathily.

"You," he said, tapping her lightly on the nose with his hook.

"Want," he continued a heartbeat later, leaning in close.

"Me," he whispered with his lips pressed to the skin next to her ear.

She inhaled sharply and extricated herself from his arm, standing up and taking a step away. He let her go and leaned back to watch her.

"I do not," she protested.

"Liar," he said gently, tilting his head to the side and meeting her gaze expectantly, challenging her.

"Even if I did—"

He grinned.

"Even  _if_  I did—which I don’t—I couldn’t…” she said. “I mean, you’re Captain freaking Hook. You’re a villain. A  _pirate_. You’re working with Cora—”

"Only because you left me behind, love," he grumbled.

"You expect me to believe that?"

"I thought you had a gift regarding lies?" he countered.

"It doesn’t always work," she muttered, looking away.

"You seemed bloody sure about it when you had me tied to that damn tree!" he growled.

"You were obviously lying!"

"And now?" he challenged.

"I’m not sure," she admitted, a little deflated.

"But it’s easier to believe that I wish to harm you?"

"You came here with Cora, so, yeah."

"And wouldn’t you have, Emma?" he pressed. "If you had no other options to get back here to your son, wouldn’t you have done anything? Made a deal with anyone?"

"Maybe," she hedged.

"But you condemn me for doing as you would have done yourself?"

"You locked me in a dungeon!"

"You chained me with a giant!"

"You ripped out Aurora’s heart!"

"And saved it from oblivion, remember? Both done  _after_  you chained me up with a bloody giant! You betrayed me first, darling.”

"You lied first,  _blacksmith_.”

"That’s not what upsets you," he declared. "You’ve lied to protect yourself before. You told me you had never been in love."

"Oh, then what am I upset about?" she demanded.

"I see you," he said, enunciating each word distinctly.

"Yeah? You’re looking right at me."

"I see the real you," he said quietly, dangerously, as he stood up. "Scared, alone, abandoned. _Orphan_.”

He took a step toward her with each word. With the last one, he tapped her on the chest over her heart.

"You’ve built up walls, trying to hide from the pain, but it is still in there, eating at you every day. The loss. The fear," he paced around her. "If only you could just sail away, alone. Safe."

He met her eyes again.

"So you did. And it worked for a while, but now there’s something new. Something unexpected. And it makes the walls unstable." His voice dropped to a whisper. "There are cracks."

He looked away from her again, and Emma had to wonder is he was still talking about just her.

"You want to be loved," he said fervently, closing his eyes. "Oh, you crave it, but if you let the walls down, then you can get hurt again."

He opened his eyes.

"And is that really worth the price?"

He paused and saw tears forming in the corners of her eyes. He cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand, searching her eyes, showing her the truth in his words.

"I would have helped you—and myself, too, aye—but I would have helped you without reservation, Emma. All you had to do was trust—"

He hadn’t expected her to cut him off, especially not by grabbing his vest and pressing her mouth to his. She kissed him in desperation. She needed this, he knew, but she also needed to shut him up.

He found it difficult to complain. He kissed her back, threading his fingers into her hair and pulling her body to his with his left arm. He devoured her mouth, responding eagerly when she deepened the kiss. Her mouth was frantic on his, and his attempts to soften the kiss all failed. She did allow him to trail tender kisses down her neck, but she was nipping and sucking ravenously on his own neck as she did so.

And then she had her hands under his shirt and she was trying to undress him.

He pulled back from her. She tried to keep him close, but he gently held her arms.

"Love, stop," he said gently.

She continued to struggle, diving in for another frantic kiss. He met her with chaste lips before pulling back again.

"Emma," he said disapprovingly.

"Isn’t this what you want?" she huffed, trying again to pull off his shirt. When he blocked her, she changed tactics and brazenly grabbed him through the front of his pants. He let out a hiss of surprise before grabbing her hand.

"I want  _you_ ,” he said firmly, pressing his arousal against her hand before pulling her fingers away from his pants. “Not this.”

She made a frustrated noise and struggled ineffectually against him.

"What’s the difference?" she whined.

He took a step back, breaking all contact with her.

"Talk with me," he said instead of answering her.

"I don’t’ want to talk," she said petulantly.

"But you need to talk, love."

She wrapped her arms around herself, her eyes shimmering.

He approached her again and wrapped his arms around her. She tried to shake him off, but he held her tight. After a few moments, she melted into his embrace and began trembling and sniffling in his arms. He tenderly drew her toward the bed and pulled her down to sit by him on the edge, his arms still firmly wrapped around her.

All at once, the dam broke, and she cried wetly and loudly into his shirt. He held her and stroked her hair.

"It’s all right, love," he shushed, over and over.

When her wracking sobs quieted into hiccups and sniffles, he began to speak. He knew that she must feel exposed after breaking down as she had. It had changed their balance of power—made them unequal again. He knew that he needed to show his own vulnerability to make her feel at ease.

"Before I became a pirate," he began in a quiet, tentative voice, "I was in the king’s navy. I was an officer—a leftenant, in fact, to a brave and honorable captain. My brother, Liam…"

She listened, her eyes eventually drying, though she held tight to him all the same.

His voice faltered when he spoke of his brother’s death in the cabin they now occupied. He finished his story in a whisper.

They sat in silence for another minute before he spoke again.

"I’ve only told that story twice," he mused. He had to clear his throat to find his voice.

"In three hundred years?" she asked quietly.

"In three hundred years," he echoed.

"Milah," she said, not really a question.

"Milah," he confirmed with a little nod.

"How long ago was she?"

"A very long time ago," he whispered with a sigh, his voice was raw.

"There’s been no one since?" she asked.

"No one I truly cared for," he said, shifting to see her better. "Though I have had company from time to time… As you have."

She didn’t have to confirm it. He knew she hadn’t been celibate since her heart had been broken, and he knew that she hadn’t let anyone come close enough to try.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked after another moment of silence.

"We’re kindred spirits, you and I," he said, not exactly an answer. "And you have fantastic breasts."

She snorted and gave his shoulder a little shove. She looked up at him with puffy, red eyes. He kissed her forehead.

"Killian?" she said tentatively.

"Yes, love?" he replied, the sound of his name on her lips sending a rush of warmth through his chest.

"Kiss me," she whispered.

He complied slowly, stroking her cheek briefly before pressing his lips to hers. He kissed her tenderly, taking his time, raining light kisses all across her face between deep, sensual kisses of her mouth.

She ran her fingers through his hair until he started kissing down her neck, then she leaned back a little and put her hands on his chest. She slid her hands under his shirt and ran her fingers over his lightly furred chest, feeling old scars on his skin.

He pulled away for a moment and she started to panic.

"Don’t stop," she pleaded. "Not this time. Don’t stop."

He unknotted her hands from his vest and quickly stripped off the garment, flinging it aside before turning his attention back to Emma. He kissed her again, more forcefully, using his mass to maneuver her down to the mattress, his upper body hovering over hers.

She squirmed beneath him until she was completely on the bed, kicking off her shoes as she did so. He followed her, but he kept his lower body to her side.

"Don’t’ stop this time," she pleaded again. "Please, Killian?"

"Not unless you want me to stop," he said against her skin as he pulled aside the tiny strip of fabric covering her collar bone. He kissed her shoulder and she relaxed a little bit.

Everyone she’d ever loved had left her. She was truly an orphan, and she needed someone who would stay. Could he do that? Did he want to? His own past was full of loss. Could he be her light after centuries of choosing darkness?

"I’m here, love," he soothed. "I’ve got you."

He was damn sure going to try.

.

Emma was still trying to pull Killian’s shirt off, which made him a little self-conscious.

"Wait, Emma," he said.

Her eyes showed sudden panic at the perceived rejection.

"Let me remove this contraption," he said, holding up his left arm. Light reflected off the curve of his hook.

"Leave it," she said, reaching for him again.

"Then perhaps the shirt should stay, as well," he said with just a hint of nervousness.

"Killian," she breathed, and he reluctantly met her searing green gaze. "It’s okay."

She took his left arm in hand and drew it to her, placing a kiss on the curve of his hook.

He’d never seen that in three hundred years.

"Emma," he said breathlessly, his voice raw with emotion. He descended on her again, assaulting her with kisses. She continued tugging on his shirt, eventually pulling it off his good arm. The fabric caught on the buckles that held his hook in place.

He ripped the garment away in annoyance, tossing it aside.

When he turned back to Emma, he found her staring at him, taking inventory. Her eyes roved over his chest and arms. They lingered on the device that encased his stump, making him curse his imperfect limb.

He wished he were whole, which was not a new wish, but now he wished it for her instead of just himself.

He moved to detach the offensive bit of metal, but she stopped him, catching his wrist.

"Leave it," she said again, her eyes burning his.

They were unequal again, this time with him on the low side.

Emma seemed to sense it, and she took charge to support him as he had done with her when she’d been low.

They were perfectly matched, he thought, not for the first time.

Emma let go of Killian and put her hands behind her back for a moment, arching her back up off the bed. He watched with curiosity as she struggled briefly with something. When she withdrew her hands, he saw the bustier beneath her chemise was loose. She slipped the straps off her shoulders and drew the entire tiny garment out from under her blouse. Her breasts bounced freely beneath the thin fabric of her chemise, erect nipples pressing against the cloth.

She took his hook in hand again and moved it over her chest, turning the point down. She took a deep breath, which did lovely things to her chest, and placed the inner curve of his hook against the neckline of her chemise. She tugged down lightly before releasing his arm and leaning back.

A quick yank and—Gods! She wanted him to rip her blouse off with his hook?

His mouth fell open in complete shock, and she grinned in response to his surprise.

He made a choked noise which quickly transformed into a growl of desire as he obliged the lady, baring her chest with one quick pull of his hook. She gasped as the fabric ripped, and she lay before him exposed, panting as if he’d done much naughtier things to her.

He finished destroying her blouse with two sharp tugs, one for each strap across her shoulders. Emboldened by the surreal-ness of the situation, he used the curve of his hook to gently brush away the fabric that has landed on her and was obscuring his view.

She gave a low moan as the cool metal grazed her skin and was instantly covered in goose bumps.

From his  _hook_.

Emma Swan would be the death of him.

Not to be outdone by his own damn appliance, Killian descended upon Emma’s flesh with his hand and mouth, caressing and kissing her exposed skin. He kissed her stomach and her breastbone before wrapping his lips around her right nipple. He stroked her left breast with his fingers.

She moaned again and arched into his touch, threading her fingers in his hair. She tossed her head back and forth, eyes screwed shut, mouth slack with pleasure. Her walls were finally down, if just for a little while, and she was  _gorgeous_.

He slowly descended her body, kissing her stomach again, dipping his tongue into her navel. He undid the button of her jeans with his hook. The angle was awkward, but he had centuries of practice with his own buttons. Below the button was a gold-colored tab and a row of metal teeth.

Very menacing pants.

"How do I vanquish the beast guarding your treasure, love?" he asked, lifting his head to look across her body at her. "Does it bite?"

She gave a throaty little laugh.

"It’s called a ‘zipper,’ and I’m sure you’ll become good friends," she said with a smirk.

She lifted the tab and slowly pulled it down, unknitting the teeth. She went halfway before switching direction and resealing the opening.

"Try it," she said with an amused grin.

He held the course fabric of her trousers taut with his fingers and caught the little hole at the end of the metal tab with his hook. He drew it down, watching the teeth come apart. He drew the tab up again, watching the teeth knit back together. He went back and forth several more times.

"Bloody brilliant," he murmured, thinking how much quicker the zipper was than the laces on his own trousers.

"Are you going to finish undressing me any time soon?" Emma asked impatiently. She was propped up on her elbows, watching him with equal parts amusement and annoyance.

He smiled up at her and pulled the zipper all the way down. He carefully used his hook and fingers to shimmy the tight garment down to her knees. She raised her hips to help, giving him another fantastic view.

Emma kicked the jeans the rest of the way off without his help, but Killian was happy to watch her body writhe as more of her milky skin was exposed to him.

Finally, she lay before him with just a scrap of black lace concealing the apex of her thighs. When his eyes roved back up to her face, she was watching him, her cheeks pink.

"Off with your pants," she commanded, making him grin.

He obligingly doffed his boots and britches to stand before her wearing just his jewelry, the damn contraption on his left arm, his kohl, and a smirk.

She surveyed him, humming to herself. She seemed to approve of what she saw. She reached for him, and he joined her on the bed, laying next to her, their bodies touching from chest to hip.

He kissed her hungrily as he let his fingertips wander down to the enticing bit of fabric that she still wore. He slowly worked it off her body, careful to preserve it as he did so. He intended to keep it as a souvenir.

He slid his knee between hers and pressed his erection into the well of her hip. She moaned again and gripped his shoulders.

"We can still stop," he breathed against her lips, fingers stroking her ribs.

He felt her lips quirk into a smile.

"This is no time to be gentlemanly, Killian," she teased.

"This is the most important time to be a gentleman, Emma," he countered gently but insistently. "I will not force you. If you’ve changed your mind…"

He let the words hang for a moment, stilling his fingers but continuing to softly kiss her.

"I want you," she breathed. "I need—I need this."

He knew she’d been about to say, “I need you.” He knew how she felt.

"You are certain?" he asked, pulling back to meet her eyes.

"Yes," she said, pulling his mouth back down to hers. She raked his scalp and back, writhing against his thigh. He could feel her heat and wetness. He shifted his leg between hers, rubbing her, teasing her. He was enjoying the anticipation and her little noises as he kissed her neck.

"You seem to be… off course, captain," she teased breathlessly.

"Oh, I have my bearings, Miss Swan," he retorted, smiling against her skin. "I’ve just been distracted by the local wild life."

He ground his thigh against her again, and she groaned, bucking her hips against his leg.

"Killian, please," she breathed.

Hearing his name—his true name—said in such a way filled him with desire and a sense of loss. It had been centuries since a woman had used his name in bed. Not since…

"Killian?" she said again, and he realized he’d gone still. "What’s wrong?"

"Nothing, darling," he murmured. "I just love hearing my name on your lips."

He rubbed his nose across her cheekbone and gently nipped her earlobe before whispering, “I want to hear you scream it.”

She gasped.

He maneuvered himself to lie between her legs as she recovered from his words. He leaned his weight on his left arm.

He glided his fingers down to her damp curls and slid them easily between her slick folds. He pushed two fingers inside her, meeting no resistance. She moaned and bucked against him, but he removed his hand quickly.

Her eyes popped open, about to protest, but her words died on her tongue as she watched him suck on his wet fingers. His eyes locked hers as he cleaned her wetness from him with his tongue. When he was done, he licked his lips and gave her a devilish smirk.

"Next time," he said, his words filled with promises of future pleasure. A shiver shot through her spine and she let her eyes close once more.

His fingers entered her again and were too quickly removed. He transferred her wetness to his cock. Then he pressed himself against her, stealing more of her wetness as he rubbed his erection against her hot center. He pressed the sensitive underside of his erection against her, savoring the anticipation.

"Sure you’re not… lost?" Emma panted impatiently. "I could draw you a map."

He grinned at the taunt.

"I’m just testing the waters, love," he teased back. "It can be perilous maneuvering such a  _large_ vessel into such a  _tight_  passage.”

He pressed against her to emphasize his words, eliciting another moan.

"The size of the boat doesn’t matter if you can’t find—oh!"

He silenced her with one swift thrust, burying himself inside her. He groaned as he ground his hips into hers, making himself as close to her as physically possible.

She’d gone completely still, and he worried that he might have harmed her.

"Emma?" he whispered.

She squirmed a little in response, and it was all he could do to keep from thrusting.

"I’m good," she breathed after a long moment. "It’s just been awhile."

"We can stop," he said, his body protesting as he began to slowly pull away from her. Emma protested, too, wrapping her legs around his hips.

"No. No stopping," she said sternly.

"I should have been more gentle," he said apologetically.

"Yeah? Well, you warned me about the jab of your sword, remember?" she teased.

"I also told you I’m a gentleman." he said seriously.

"You are," she breathed as though she was just realizing it.

"I’m sorr—" he started.

"Don’t you dare apologize," she admonished, putting her fingers to his lips, "and don’t you dare stop."

He kissed her fingers before she withdrew them from his lips to wrap her arms around his neck. She squeezed her legs around him, lifting her hips, making him groan again at the sensation.

"You’re a demanding little princess, aren’t you?" he growled.

She bucked her hips in response and captured his mouth. He kissed her passionately and began moving with her, not as forcefully as either of them had imagined.

He’d fantasized about ravaging her since she’d held a knife to his throat, but his daydreams had never included slow, intimate coupling. He’d pictured her pressed against a wall or bent over a table, not cradled in his arms, caressing his shoulders and sighing blissfully.

It was some consolation that she seemed just as surprised as he was. She arched deliciously against him and their eyes met, blue and green, each wide and full of wonder. He moved with her again and kept her gaze, seeing the desire, surprise and… trust, aye, that was what it was.

They could count the time they’re spent together in hours, and yet this felt easy. It felt right; not just good, but  _perfect_. It felt as though his body had be created to fit with hers.

After three hundred years, he had finally found a home.

Emma was having her own moment, watching the storm in Killian’s sea-colored eyes. She’d expected smugness and triumph from him, but she found his face open and east to read. She watched the emotions flit through his head: confusion, pleasure, vulnerability, and adoration.

She couldn’t believe how quickly he’d broken down her walls, but it seemed they were kindred spirits in that regard, too. If the wonder in his eyes was any indication, he was just as surprised as she was.

She felt a surge of panic at the idea that she wanted him more than she’s realized and that she’d let him do this to her, let his open her heart. But she could see that he matched her in that emotion, too. Seeing his vulnerability and fear, she wanted to comfort him. She wanted to be what he needed as he seemed to be exactly what she needed.

Clinging to each other, they moved, slow and deep, gasping and moaning, but no words were spoken. Kissing often, caressing, finding a rhythm that burned them both, they enacted their passion. Neither of them thought of it as ‘making love,’ because they were both too broken and stubborn to do so.

But make love they did.

It seemed to last for hours. They both were slick with sweat when Killian’s body finally approached his climax.

Emma hadn’t peaked, but she was satisfied to watch him fall to pieces above her. He opened his eyes, as if he wanted to make sure she was really there. He looked so lost, his brow crumpled, and she knew he’d wanted to give her release before taking his own. He wanted to be strong and dominant, but he was trembling as his body came undone.

He searched her eyes, needing reassurance, and she smiled warmly at him. It sent him over the edge. He called out wordlessly and kissed her as he came. Then he collapsed on top of her, breathing hard and trembling.

She savored his weight on her for almost a minute before he rolled off of her, pulling her with him to tuck her into the crook of his arm as he lay back and panted.

"That was…" he said, trailing off.

"Yeah," she answered.

"Emma," he breathed, "I didn’t… I’m s—"

"No apologies," she said gently.

"But you didn’t—"

"It’s okay," she soothed.

"No, it isn’t," he protested, lifting his head to look at her.

"Shh," she admonished. "Don’t’ spoil the afterglow."

"Afterglow?" he echoed, confused. Then he seemed to catch on and his face relaxed. "What a lovely expression."

He laid back again and held her, stroking her arm as his breathing slowed. She traced idle patterns across his chest with her fingers.

"That isn’t what I expected," he said after a time.

"You can say that again," she replied.

"What happens now?" he asked as if it were the most important question anyone had ever asked.

"I don’t know," she said honestly. "I didn’t expect that either."

They were quiet again, each lost in thought.

"Maybe," she said tentatively after a while. "Maybe it was just a fluke. A one time thing."

"You don’t believe that," he admonished.

"We barely know each other," she protested, and he could feel her trying to rebuild her walls, starting to pull away.

"I know you," he said quietly, holding her tight, "as well as I know myself."

"But maybe you’re wrong," she said, sitting up. "Maybe this was—"

"Don’t’ say it."

"—a mistake."

He let out a huff of breath.

"Why can’t you just be happy, love?"

"Maybe I don’t deserve to be," she said with pain in her voice.

"Everyone deserved to –"

"Everyone?" she said pointedly, cutting him off.

"Almost everyone deserved to be happy," he amended, thinking of the crocodile.

"So maybe I don’t," she said, turning further away and crossing her arms.

"And maybe you do," he said sitting up and gently turning her to face him. He met her eyes.

"This can’t work—" she stated to protest.

"Seemed to work brilliantly, beside my inability to do my duty by you," he said, leaning in to kiss her shoulder.

"That’s not a big deal," she protested, pulling away again, but not swiftly.

"It is to me," he said, running his fingers down her ribs to her hip.

"You don’t need to—this is a bad idea," she protested, but her breath was already speeding up, and she wasn’t pulling away now.

"I want to taste you," he whispered into her ear before laying her back down.

She gasped.

"You can’t do that after… There’s—you…" she stammered, eyes wide.

"Then I will taste  _us_ ,” he said, continuing to move down her body.

Us.

The word stopped her cold. Emma Swan didn’t do ‘ _us_.’

"Hook," she began, voice as hard as she could make it while being actively seduced.

"Not my name, love," he murmured into her hip, placing kisses along the bone.

"Killian," she said.

"Better," he rumbled against her skin.

She tried to voice her argument then, but his fingers found her, stealing her words, replacing them with a gasp and a moan. His mouth was on her a second later, and she forgot why she had needed words in the first place.

She threaded her fingers in his hair, stroking his scalp, the only part of him she could reach.

He was a fantastic kisser, and she had to admit she’d been thinking about his mouth ever since he’d used it to tie his scarf around her wounded hand at the top of the beanstalk.

His talent for his current activity was the stuff of legend.

Panting and moaning, she writhed beneath him, unable to form a coherent thought.

His tongue, his fingers… Oh, dear lord, his  _tongue_! Licking, thrusting, flicking, laving, combined with his calloused fingers, it was like he was performing some magic spell on her. She thought the pleasure might kill her if he had use of two hands.

He built her up until she was whimpering and gasping, her hands abandoning his hair to curl in the sheets of the bed.

She was so close.

"Emma," he growled into her skin.

"Hmm?" she replied breathlessly, not opening her eyes.

"Emma, look at me," he commanded between licks, his fingers deep inside her.

She hazily lifted her head to see him with his mouth still on her, his eyes intensely fixed on hers and dark with passion.

"Watch," he commanded, and she couldn’t take her eyes from his.

His lips curled up into a smile as his tongue continued to flick over her most sensitive spot. He changed the angle of his fingers inside her, curling them to hit a spot she didn’t know existed.

He stroked her there once, twice, and on the third stroke he sucked hard on her little bundle of nerves and winked—he  _winked_  at her as he sent her over the edge.

She threw her head back, her body arching and writing at the intensity of her orgasm. She cried out wordlessly, her vision swimming.

He continued to work her body as she came down for her high, slowing his pace in time with her breath.

She lost a moment, or maybe she blacked out, because the next thing she knew, he was lying next to her again, placing wet kisses on her neck, his damp fingers trailing over her ribs.

"You haven’t screamed my name yet, love," he murmured, nipping her throat. "Are you ready for another go?"

"Are you?" she breathed incredulously.

He turned to press his erection into her side.

"You inspired me," he said against her hair.

"Oh," she gasped, grabbing his arm and trying to pull him back on top of her.

He quickly obliged, rubbing his length against her tender, swollen core.

She moaned, raising her hips to grind against him.

"Still think I’m off course, love?" he teased, pressing firmly against her.

"You do seem to know where you’re going," she panted.

"I’m going to take you with me, this time," he said, claiming her mouth.

He tasted like the sea, and sex, and rum, and oh god, he was a genius at kissing.

He entered her during the kiss, making her gasp into his mouth. The hair on his chest was teasing her sensitive nipples as he slid his hand between them to start stroking her almost lazily.

"Let’s have you share in some of the work, love," he said warmly, expertly rolling them over. Emma found herself straddling Killian’s thighs, his ‘sword’ still sheathed inside her.

She blinked down at him for a moment, taking in the sight of him flushed with desire. He stroked her clit again with his thumb, making her throw her head back and roll her hips against him, her hands splayed across his chest.

"That," he declared, "is the most brilliant sight I’ve seen in centuries."

She smiled and turned her face slightly away, embarrassed but pleased.

"You’re not half bad yourself," she said cheekily.

"Half bad?" he teased, feigning shock. "That’s all I get is ‘half bad’?"

"That’s my verdict," she said warmly, smirking.

"Then I’ll have to present more compelling evidence," he said darkly.

He removed his fingers from her center, clutching her hip instead. He brought is left arm between them and slowly, carefully dragged the tip of his hook down her front, from her throat to her damp curls. He turned his hook, there, and slid the cool metal against her hot, wet folds.

She moaned in reply, grinding against him.

He pressed his hand into her hip, trying to lift her, and she moved with him, meeting the pace he set, impaling herself on his cock and rubbing her clit against his hook.

"Just like that," he said gruffly, turning his hook back and forth, sliding the cold metal against her hot flesh.

"Good form, Emma," he complimented as she rose and fell above him.

She made no coherent reply.

"Does it feel good?" he half-teased, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper as he finished: "Or merely ‘half bad’?"

"Good, definitely good," she gasped.

He grinned at that.

"Any time you want to start screaming, love, feel free," he said.

"Shut up," she growled, but her lips turned up into a grin.

"Maybe you’ve forgotten what my name is?" he teased, bucking his hips beneath her.

"Killian!" she gasped, and he groaned at the sound if it.

"Much better," he said breathlessly, not quite as in control as he had been.

"You really like that, don’t you,  _Killian_?” she said seductively, swirling her hips.

"You have no idea," he growled.

"Mm," was all she replied as she rubbed against him.

"Say it again, love," he half-pleaded before he could stop the words from spilling from his lips. "Never stop saying it."

"Killian," she said obligingly, gasping again.

His name on her lips was proving too much for him, so he rolled then back over, taking control. He thrust into her hungrily, leaning on his left arm and pleasuring her with his talented fingers.

"Oh, yes!" she cried out, writing beneath him.

"Yes,  _who_?” he grunted, nipping her neck.

"Killian," she breathed.

"Louder, love," he growled.

"Killian!" she said more forcefully.

He increased the rhythm of his thrusts and she rocked deliciously with him, meeting him each time.

"Again," he demanded. Then softer, he breathed, "Emma."

"Killian," she moaned.

She gasped and panted, writhing. He eyes were screwed shut, her hands clawing uselessly at the sheets.

"That’s it, love," he panted. "Nearly there… Just once more, Emma… Once more…"

She obligingly cried out his name as she spasmed and fell apart around him.

He thrust two more times before following her into oblivion, his lips reverently forming her name as he spilled himself inside her.

.

Hours later, Emma woke up snuggled against Killian’s chest. His left arm was under her neck and his right arm was draped over her torso, his fingers wrapped around her upper arm. Her left hand was resting lightly on his chest, her left leg thrown over his thigh. She could hear his heartbeat, slow and steady, and his breathing was exactly in time with hers.

She felt warm and safe and… Nonono, this was bad.

She had to get out of here.

She chewed on her lip as she tried to figure out how to extricate herself without waking him.

"You could stay," he said so quietly, she wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it.

He hadn’t moved or even opened his eyes, but he’d sensed her intentions.

"The ten hours are up," she said as coolly as she could. Her voice only shook a little.

She sat up and reached for her jeans.

"That they are," he said with a sigh.

He sat up, too, watching her with eyes too blue and too intense for her to meet.

Unable to find her panties, she shimmied into her jeans, grabbing her bra and looking around for her shirt. She frowned, wondering where it could have gotten to as she put on the bra.

She made a choked sound when she suddenly remembered what had happened to blouse. Her eyes darted back to the bed, where Killian sat like some Greek god of sex, gloriously naked, leaning on his elbow. The shreds of her ruined blouse were lying half beneath him on the bed.

She turned bright red, remembering, and she saw the corners of his mouth twitch up. She turned away from him quickly, grabbing her jacket from where it hung next to his coat on the pegs by the door. She put on the red leather garment quickly, zipping it up to hide her lack of shirt.

"Emma…" he said softly. So softly. A one night stand shouldn’t ever use that tone. That tone was not casual. It was not temporary. It wasn’t  _allowed_.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and squared her shoulders.

"Good bye, Hook," she said with her back to him, her words coming out much breathier than she’d intended.

She told herself she wasn’t going to look back. She wasn’t going to take that last glance.

But she looked anyway as she went through the door.

It was only a second, just a quick peek, but she saw everything:

She saw the hope flicker across his face as she turned around. She saw the disappointment when she didn’t come back in. She saw the hardening around his eyes as he let his own walls come back up.

She saw Killian get hidden away as he went back to being Hook.

"Good bye, Swan," he said without emotion as the door closed between them.


	2. Coda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By popular demand: A coda.

The next two weeks were painful in all kinds of ways: Cora, New York,  _Neal_ , the stupid failsafe device, and Tamara and Greg kidnapping Henry. 

Emma was at her wit’s end and completely out of options.  She’d felt defeated in every possible way.

And then Hook came back.

After everything that had happened, Hook came back.

That meant something.

So Emma went to see him on their first night in Neverland.

She knocked tentatively on the door to his cabin.

“Come,” he called, voice rough and mildly annoyed.

Emma took a deep breath before entering.

“Swan,” he said, clearly surprised.

Emma saw the second of wide-eyed, hopeful surprise in his face before he reverted to guarded neutrality.

“To what do I own the honor?” he said, dripping sarcasm and giving her a tight, ugly smile.

“Don’t,” she said in exasperation, holding up her hands.  “I come in peace.”

“Really?” he said skeptically, eyeing her up and down.

“Yeah, really,” she said.  “Can we try to act like grown-ups for a minute?”

He was silent for a moment, watching her.  His expression stayed neutral, but his eyes burned with mixed emotions.

“Look, I just…” Emma started.

She let out a huff of breath, running her hands through her hair.  She shifted her weight, fidgeting, unsure how to say what she needed to say.  Killian stared at her stonily.  She knew she’d hurt him, and it was probably difficult for him to even give her this much—hearing her out.  She’d screwed up, bad, and she had to try to make it right.

“You came back,” she blurted out, almost an accusation.

“Aye,” he said, slowly raising an eyebrow.

“People don’t do that.  For me,” she said.  “No one comes back.  They just leave.”

His expression softened marginally.  He cocked his head to the side and continued to wait, letting her get out what it was she wanted to say.

“So… So, I… I’m not used to that,” she said.  “And, I wanted you to know that I know it’s important.  It means something.  It’s not… I—ugh, I just wanted to thank you for doing it.  For coming back.”

Emma squirmed again, feeling awkward.  She felt like an idiot.  This had been a bad idea.  What was she even thinking?  And talking to him  _there_ , in his cabin, where they’d…

“I’ll always come back,” he said.  His voice was low and soft, almost vulnerable.

She looked at him, chewing on her lip, her brow crinkled.  She didn’t want any declarations.  She just wanted to be back on speaking terms. 

“Don’t—” she started.

“I mean it, Emma,” he said.  “I know you’ve been hurt, and I’m not saying I can undo the damage that has been done, but I swear I will not willfully cause you more pain.”

He was telling the truth.

“Hook—”

He cocked his eyebrow at her, giving her an expectant look.  Emma feigned ignorance, but she knew exactly what the look meant.

“My ship, remember?” he said wryly.

Emma swallowed hard.

She hadn’t said his name since that night.  She hadn’t even allowed herself to  _think_  it.  He was Hook, always Hook.  She could deal with Hook.  Killian Jones was something else altogether.

“Killian…” she said, her voice trembling. 

And then he was kissing her.

Emma let out a sigh of breath into his mouth and snaked her arms around his neck.  He wrapped his arms around her, too, pulling her close.

Emma didn’t even consider pulling away.  If she was honest with herself, she’d wanted this since the moment she’d stepped out of his bed, weeks before.  She’d dreamed of him, ached for him. 

And his mouth felt so good, hot and eager against her own. 

She let him deepen the kiss, gliding her tongue along his as he slid it into her mouth.  He groaned, his hand trailing up her spine to cup the back of her head. 

Suddenly impatient, Emma yanked at the collar of his coat, trying to drag it down his arms.  He obligingly took a tiny step back, keeping his lips on hers as he shrugged out of the garment and tossed it aside. 

She attacked his vest next, undoing the buttons as he tried to pull her blouse over her head at the same time. 

He won through sheer tenacity, and she found herself with her fingers threaded in his hair as he kissed his way down her chest.  He unclasped her bra much faster than she’d expected him to and pushed it up, out of the way, so he could kiss and nip at her bare breasts.

Emma moaned, feeling the tension of the last few weeks draining from her under his expert ministrations. 

Killian tugged at her pants, but he seemed to have some difficulty with her leggings.  The stretchy material wasn’t terribly cooperative.  Emma was too busy kissing him to worry about how he’d manage.  He ended up having to let go of her completely, but he eventually rendered her completely naked.

Killian gathered Emma up into his arms, eliciting a cry of surprise from her.  He carried her to his bed, setting her on it not quite gently and pulling her to the edge. 

He spread her legs almost roughly and dropped to his knees, burying his face between her thighs.

Emma cried out again in surprise and pleasure as Killian’s expert tongue found her hot, wet center.  He dragged his tongue along her burning flesh, groaning as he did so.

Emma leaned back, resting her weight on her elbows, her head pressed against the wall above his narrow bunk. 

“This should be done to you every day,” he growled into her skin, lightly biting her inner thigh before going back to licking her.

She made a noise that even she couldn’t identify: part moan, part laugh, part gasp. 

He brought his hand up, sliding two fingers inside her and working them in a steady rhythm. 

Dimly, Emma realized that Killian had his left arm down and hidden.  A glint caught her eye and she saw his hook and brace lying on the table.  Her curiosity was piqued, but she was too distracted to think about Killian’s left arm when she was being pleasured so expertly by his mouth and right hand.

It was only the second time he’d performed this particular act on Emma, but he seemed to have zeroed in on what she liked.  Or maybe she was just desperate for release.  Either way, it didn’t take very long for Emma to find herself biting down on her own fist to keep from waking her parents, Regina, and Gold.

Killian worked her through her orgasm, his fingers eventually stilling as he continued to lap lazily at her flesh.  He finally pulled back when she trembled and pushed him away, her sex too sensitive to take any more stimulation.

He leaned back on his haunches, all sex-ruffled hair and wet stubble.  His eyes were completely obscene.  His self-satisfied expression would be infuriating if she hadn’t just been, well,  _satisfied_ by him.

“You were saying?” he quipped, as if eating her out had just been a mild distraction from their conversation.

Emma threw one of his pillows at him.

He caught it nimbly, grinning widely.

Emma took a few breaths, letting the world come back into focus around her.  Killian watched her, kneeling below her, perched between her splayed legs like it were his proper place in the world.  In that moment, it felt like maybe it was. 

Emma had seen the man in a lot of situations; fighting, injured, amused, cocky, unconscious, hopeless, eager, despondent, lustful, and confident.

She suddenly wanted to see something else.

“Switch me places,” she said, her voice still a little breathy.

His surprised expression was delicious.

“Emma, there’s no need—” he protested.

“What if  _I_  need it?” she asked.

His mouth fell open in shock.

She let him make fish-faces for a moment, pleased that she’d rendered Captain Hook speechless.   

“I wasn’t expecting—” he stammered.  “It wasn’t my intention…”

“I got it,” she said, fighting a grin.  “Now get up,  _Captain_ , and take off your pants.”

Killian only hesitated for a moment before complying.  He rose fluidly to his feet and quickly unlaced his trousers one-handed.  His left arm still hung at his side, the fluttering end of his sleeve concealing his entire arm.

Emma hopped off the bed and reached for his left arm to sate her curiosity.  He reflexively snatched it away as soon as her fingers brushed his sleeve.  His head snapped up, eyes wide with a mix of shame and fear.

She gave him a patient look, reaching again. 

He closed his eyes, the muscles in his jaw twitching beneath his skin.  He held perfectly still as she pulled his arm up and flipped back the ruffle at the end of the sleeve.    She pressed a kiss to the old, faded scar, knowing that a quick, simple affirmation would be the easiest thing for him.

He inhaled sharply at the kiss, shuddering, eyes closed. 

Emma let the sleeve flutter back down over his arm and tugged him around to push him toward the bed.  He sat on the edge, his eyes opening. 

“Emma,” he whispered, his voice completely broken.

“Shh,” she said, looking up at him as she knelt before him and gently pushed his knees apart.

She brushed her fingertips along his inner thighs, from his knees all the way to his nest of dark curls.  Her left hand continued higher, landing on his hip.  Her right hand wrapped around his thick length, making him inhale sharply again. 

She stroked lightly, examining him for a moment, letting her hot breath puff out over the head of his cock.  Inventory complete (and quite satisfied with what she’d seen), she lifted her head to look at his face.

His expression was delicious.  Emma could only imagine that it had been a while since Captain Hook had found himself in such a vulnerable situation.  His face reflected that.  He looked lost, hungry, frightened, desperate, and grateful. 

Emma couldn’t help bit grin at him, which made his eyebrows rise even higher.

She leaned forward, maintaining eye contact as she slowly opened her mouth and gently brushed her lips over him.  She couldn’t help but let her tongue dart out as she did so. 

His eyebrows danced, his mouth falling open.

Emma considered just watching him through the whole thing, but she knew it would be too distracting to do the job properly, so she reluctantly dropped her gaze.

She swirled her tongue around him and then moved forward, taking his head into her mouth.  He groaned in response, his hand fisting in the sheets beside his hip. 

Emma smiled around him at that, feeling wicked and powerful.  She surged forward, sucking more of him into her mouth, sliding her hand lower on his shaft and squeezing. 

He rewarded her with another groan. 

She set a rhythm, adjusting the firmness of her grip to the sounds he made.  She bobbed forward and back, swirling her tongue around him every few passes, flicking it against the sensitive underside of his cock on others. 

He seemed to really like that.

She pulled back and just flicked him with her tongue for a bit, stroking hard. 

He leaned back, his head thumping against the wall.  He put his weight on his left elbow, his right arm coming up for a moment.  It looked like he wanted to thread his fingers in her hair, but he denied himself, grabbing his own hair, pressing his palm against his own thigh, and then fisting his hand in the sheets again.  He panted, and Emma thought she might have heard a  _whimper._

“Emma,” he breathed, and she knew he was trying to make it into a warning—a question.

Emma surged forward in response, taking him deep into her mouth, letting the head of his cock hit the back of her throat once, twice, three times. 

When Killian started trembling, Emma pulled back, stroking him hard and fast with her hand while she sucked lightly on the head of his cock, flicking her tongue at the spot she knew would send him over the edge.

She wasn’t disappointed.

He shuddered, letting out a muffled grunt as he climaxed. 

Emma worked him through his orgasm, loosening her grip but continuing to stroke him until he gave a little whine to indicate he was too sensitive.  When she released him, she tossed her head back and swallowed, meeting his eyes as she did so.

He was absolutely wrecked. 

He was panting, his face shining with sweat.  His eyes were dark, but wide open as he stared at her in awe. 

“Emma,” he whispered again.

“Shut up,” she said gently, favoring him with a little half smile.

He blinked at her.

Emma leaned back on her haunches.

“I’m not…” Emma started, sighing and pausing to gather her thoughts.  “I’m not good at  _this_.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“You know what I mean,” she chided, surprised that she felt her cheeks warm.

He nodded with a tiny smile.

“I’m not declaring anything,” she said.  “This doesn’t mean we’re…  _Whatever_.  I just needed to say thank you and to apologize for… well, for a lot of things.”

She paused again, chewing on her lip.

“When you’re ready,” he said gently, letting the implications remain unsaid.

“If,” she immediately corrected.

“ _When_ ,” he restated, his voice firmer and his eyes intent.  “I’ll be waiting.”

Emma watched him, measuring the man.  Pirate, lover, villain, hero.  Kindred Spirit. 

“Good,” she said when she finally found her voice.


End file.
